The Line
by Patience Memory
Summary: When Danny has to explain an abstract piece of art to the rest of his class he sees something in the painting that the other students don't... himself. Oneshot.


The Line (A Danny Phantom Fan Fiction)

Oneshot

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I never thought much of abstract art. Don't get me wrong, I have nothing against someone who decides to throw a bunch of paint against a piece of paper, it just never appealed to me.

It happened when class was taking a field trip to the local arts museum (Explore Your Own Creativity! Guides Available!), and I'm pretty sure the only reason I hadn't tuned Lancer out hours before was the fact that Sam was ecstatic about our class 'learning to appreciate free expression' and kept reminding me to pay attention.

I have to say it was pretty interesting for a school field trip, but that didn't stop me from wishing I could go home and curl up under my covers. Ghost hunting had made the night before very, very long, and I had been ready for the day to end about two hours before lunch time. Just thinking about sleep made me want to yawn, but I didn't.

At least not until we made it to that last painting.

That painting was peculiar, but I think that's a recommendation for free style art. As before stated I was tired, and therefore I wasn't paying much attention, nagging Sam or no nagging Sam.

I remember wondering why she didn't go bug Tucker for a while; he'd been secretly playing one of those addicting 'hit the blocks with the ball' games on his PDA since we first got off the bus.

Anyway, the painting didn't seem much different than the other paintings. It was divided into fourths by a bunch of lines, each line a different color and width. As for color, the painting consisted of reds, blacks, whites, blues, and greens.

My eyes blurred somewhat and my head nodded in time with Lancer's droning lecture before I could really place what color went were. Did I mention I was dead tired? _Literally_ dead tired?

Of course Sam noticed this, and hissed at me to wake up while elbowing me in the side. The sudden sharp pain was enough to make me pull my head up and force my eyes open again, but it wasn't enough to keep me from opening my mouth in a large yawn.

I swear I didn't mean to make any noise, but sometimes you can't help it.

Lancer stopped talking about the painting. All whispering and hushed laughter between students stopped as a little over ten pairs of eyes snapped to me and my offending mouth. That woke me up.

"Well Mr. Fenton," Lancer said, raising an eyebrow. "I'm glad to see you've taken particular interest in this work of art."

The silent teenagers began to snicker as my face heated up. Lancer waited for these chuckling youths to quiet down before continuing.

"Maybe you would like to share with the class exactly what you found so… invigorating about this piece."

Darn it.

I walked up from the back of the class, fully aware that my support group (Sam and Tuck) couldn't come with me. I was alone on this one.

After I made it to the front of the class I turned my eyes to the piece in question. Better get this over with. I decided to start with the top of the painting and work my way down.

The top forth of the piece was painted black, with even white poke-a-dots over it. So what was it supposed to mean? The only thing I remembered looking like that was a roll of wrapping paper I saw once, but I couldn't tell Lancer that.

I moved to the line that separated this section from the next. It was reasonably thick and a deep flat brown color. I tried to make it make sense, but it just didn't. As some person somewhere has probably said, when you can't fix it, leave it.

No wait, that was if you can't beat them, join them.

I'm not terribly good with historical quotes.

The next section was a nice blue color. In this section there was half of a dull grey circle. I still had nothing.

Maybe I should tell Lancer it made me feel happiness. That always works with this kind of painting right?

Next came the biggest dividing line in the picture. I couldn't help but feel a sense of familiarity as I looked at it. It was a thick white line, the same kind of line that passed between my two identities, the same kind of line that I jumped over daily; the line between life and death. That sounded kinda cool… but I couldn't tell Lancer _that_.

Below this line was another stripe of brown, and immediately after that an area of light green, once again something that seemed familiar- once again something Lancer couldn't know about. This green part held the bottom half of the grey circle.

Under that I saw two very thin lines, so thin I hadn't noticed them from my spot in the crowd. One was a comforting grey-teal color, and the other a deep purple. They ran between the green area and the last piece of the picture.

This bottom quarter was a deep red.

I scratched the back of my neck. This painting didn't mean anything to me. All I could think of it being was a shelf of wrapping paper or something. It didn't make sense.

And then, all of a sudden, it did.

I cleared my throat and pointed at the grey spot. "This- this is a person."

A loud guffaw behind me pin pointed Dash's location. I narrowed my eyes, but continued. I needed to tell them what this thing meant to me. If I didn't the meaning I had found would become just another secret, and I was sick and tired of all the secrets.

"The person is grey because their empty. All this other stuff? That's what this person fills the space with."

I moved my finger up to point at the white poke-a-dots at the top of the painting. "These are stars- dreams. Things this person wishes for. And the brown line…"

I looked at the brown line that kept the stars from the blue. "That's… I don't know, reality I guess. All the mediocre stuff, all the responsibility that keeps those dreams just that; dreams. Dreams… stars… they're nice and all, but there comes a point when you have to realize that they're just not for you."

I heard Dash start to laugh again, but he ended with a loud 'ouch!'.

I'd bet anyone a million dollars that he was the second person to be subjected to Sam's sharp elbow that day.

"The blue, that's all the normal stuff, the things that everyone thinks you are." I swung my arm to indicate the entire piece. "They don't realize you can _choose_ who you let them see."

I made a tapping motion towards the second brown line. "This is the same as the other part, responcibility."

I looked down at the green part of the painting. "This is all the abnormal things I- I mean the person- _can_ be. It's green, bright and energetic, full of potential, potential no one but the person ever really understands."

I skipped over the two thin lines. I doubted my classmates had noticed them.

"This blood red color, that's all the stuff this person can be but doesn't want to be. This red area holds all the anger, all the rage, the heavy stuff that sinks down in you like the red sank to the bottom of the painting." I sighed and stopped for a moment. No one, not even Dash made a sound, so I kept going.

"Now the white line. That is the part that shows that you can't have all this stuff at once."

I pointed on to the portion of the painting under of the white line, the dividing line. "If you want the potential, the power, stuff like that,"

I moved my hand up to the top of the picture, above the dividing line. "You have to give up the things above the line, the dreams, the normalcy…"

I was done. For the first time I turned around to face the others. Most looked bored. Tucker and Sam (who was standing by Dash, confirming my earlier suspicions) had eyes full of understanding. A few of the students looked plain shocked. Was what I had done that startling?

I'm guessing Lancer was shocked to, but to his credit he didn't lose the teacher act for a moment.

"Do you have anything else Mr. Fenton? Could you describe this painting in one word?"

_Me._

"Not really Mr. Lancer."

"Well then," Lancer said, "I guess you were paying attention after all."

"Hey Fentoni!" Dash's obnoxiously nasal voice called. "What's this thing called anyways?"

I turned and squinted at the name written on a plaque under the picture. My ears burnt red.

"Wrapping Paper and Ornaments." I read weakly. The uproar behind me caused me to blush ever harder.

"_Gulliver's Travels _kids!" Lancer yelled over the laughter. "Behave yourselves! We are guests in a public place; _try _and act _civilized_!"

After a while they all calmed down, and we began moving towards the exit. I waited until most of the pack had moved on before melting into the group of stragglers. I felt a hand on my shoulder and turned to see Sam looking back at me, a smile on her face.

"I thought that was sweet." She said.

I snorted. "Oh, right, I just made myself look even dorkier than normal and you think it was sweet." I said dryly.

"Shake it off dude." Tucker said, coming up beside us. "It'll wear off in a couple of days."

I believed Tuck, I was just too embarrassed at the time to tell him that right then. Instead I simply walked forward.

We walked out of the museum, our arms locked together. I shook my head at my own silliness, but smiled. It was better to get the wrong impression of a painting than none at all. At least that's what I think.

I thought back to the one thing I had skipped when giving my description. It was by far the most important thing I saw in that painting was the purple and teal lines.

The purple line stood for Sam and the teal one for Tucker. They were thin lines, almost unnoticeable, but they were strong, so strong that they kept the potential and power of the green side away from the anger and rage of the red.

No one else seemed to realize how important those two lines were, but I do, and I hope I never forget. Without them, the red and green would bleed together, making the picture runny and ugly. Those two thin lines were my boundaries, my anchors.

These two I found walking beside me, they were more important than all the other lines and colors by a long shot. Sam and Tucker; for me they formed the line I would never cross, the line that separated me from all I could but refused to be.

They were my definable line between good and evil.

I wish I could write that for English class. Lancer would never give me an F on that.

But of course I can't.

But as I walked out, Sam on my right and Tucker on my left that was just fine. I didn't really need an A.

I had all I needed standing right beside me.

END

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**There it is, my first oneshot. Please tell me what you think.**


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